Love From the Grave
by Yamiga
Summary: John finds solace in visiting Sherlock's tombstone. Apparently, so does the grave digger.


**Title: Love From the Grave**

**Summary: John finds solace in visiting Sherlock's tombstone. Apparently, so does the grave digger.**

* * *

The gravestone was dark and black. It had a glossy surface with two words carved deeply into it's material, leaving small gray stones riddled in its cracks. On the base of the tomb, few flowers grew, and grass attempted to make its home there. However, the plants tended to die just hours after they bloomed, leaving the tombstone barren and dull. Barren and dull, just like Sherlock Holmes.

John tended to like that aspect of both his late friend and the inanimate tomb stone. No matter what happened to them, what became of them, they were always dull, unchangeable. Winter, Summer, Spring and Autumn passed, and both Sherlock and the tomb stone would always remain dark, and mysterious. John liked it that way.

OoOoOoOo

It wasn't easy to grieve, and John figured that out the hard way. Many times his therapist had told him basic methods to overcome the grief he felt, but it seemed like none of them worked. That haunting image of Sherlock jumping to his death had forever imprinted itself within his mind. It haunted him, it gave him nightmares that he couldn't even begin to comprehend.

No amount of words or simple talking could fix the images he had seen, could change the way he felt. John was ruined, plagued with the sheer knowledge that Sherlock took his own life. He didn't know if he could forget it, if that weight upon his chest would ever subside.

OooOoOoOo

It was better to talk , and not to be listened to. This served as some type of healing for John. He'd by now, found himself visiting Sherlock's dull tomb stone daily. Sometimes he'd bring flowers and other things. He'd take books and read, and even his computer. He liked to read to the tombstone what the bloggers still said, how much they loved Sherlock even after death.

A lot of people still loved Sherlock after his suicide. John supposed that was a kind thing, even though Sherlock most likely wouldn't love any of them back. He could imagine that cunning detective, absorbing all that unneeded attention.

He almost laughed, as he leaned against the tomb stone one day, reading the posts and comments. "People love you so much. You never even knew." He spoke silently. "Even after death." Strangely, saying those words made John feel empty inside.

OoOoOoOo

Eventually, John figured out that it was the grave digger who took the roses off of Sherlock's grave, the third Wednesday of every month. John wanted to put up an argument, but supposed that it was the man's job. It would be pointless to fight over something so simple, so he supposed that he'd just let the man do as he pleased, or as he was paid.

However, one night, when he was coming just to sit with his old friend, John couldn't help but notice the grave digger hovering over Sherlock's grave himself. He was silent, dressed in all black as he gazed down in silent reverence.

Perhaps this man knew Sherlock long before John had, and he was just paying his old friend respects. At the time, John didn't feel like mingling with him, so he left.

OoOoOoOoO

He thought that after three long months, he'd be better. That visiting Sherlock and talking to his tombstone would make everything better. He was wrong, it only made him worse.

He was depressed, angry, hurt and lonely. He pushed people away and welcomed only the cold rim of a whiskey bottle. Even when talking to Sherlock, he still felt so lost and so empty. He didn't know where to go, or what to do...he was just stranded.

John thought alcohol made things better, he thought it 'drowned' sorrows, however, if anything, the horrid chemical only made John more aware of what he faced, the depression that cloaked him.

He was trapped, and near his end. He found comfort only with the dead. Perhaps that's where he belonged, in the clutches of those who had long lived their lives.

OoOoOoOoO

It was a warm night when John found himself at Sherlock's tomb stone again. However, he wasn't happy, nor did he carry any hope with him as he leaned with his back against the cool stone. His head was down and his hands were in his lap. There were tears rolling from his drunk eyes as he tried to find some comfort in the presence of Sherlock.

"I feel lost." He whispered quietly. "I don't know what to do Sherlock...please help me. You've helped everyone else...I just want you to help me." He didn't receive an answer, and his tears flowed freely. That emptiness that had filled him just weeks ago grew stronger and heavier. It was painful as it tugged on his heart, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

"D...did you feel the same way about me?" John whispered. "Did you love me as much as I loved you?" He laughed and shook his head. To think Sherlock cared about him the same way he cared for Sherlock was childish.

Eventually, John's breaths became heavy and his chest heaved. Within seconds, he'd fallen asleep near the tombstone.

OoOoOoOo

The next morning, the pale sun caressed the doctor's face and strangely, as he felt for himself, he realized he was warm. Quickly, he sat up and looked around only to realize that someone had draped a large black over coat on him last night. He held a bit of it his hands and felt the warm, woolen fabric.

_Sherlock..._He thought, noticing the sheer resemblance to his old friend's.

He clutched it tighter around the pocket area and felt a paper like material. He withdrew it and opened it, it simply read:

_You looked cold last night, so I lent you my coat. Keep it, and where something warmer, you might catch cold next time._

_Grave Digger._

_PS: You're around here almost every day. Perhaps you should move on._

_OoOoOoOo_

A year later, John Watson stood before Sherlock's tombstone. He looked better, acted better, seemed better, but he was far from better. He had to force a facade for those around him, as people began to worry about his well being. He couldn't continue on, hurt and aching, so he had to put on a smile, he had to try to move on. And that was exactly what he was attempting to do at that moment, as he stood before Sherlocks's tombstone one final time. He was going to simply move on.

He took a deep breath, before placing the bouquet of flowers upon the dirt. He then straightened up and prepared to recite a few words. "You were probably the worst thing that has ever happened to me Sherlock, really you were." He laughed. "I missed countless hours of sleep, I became a target, I was attacked, I was constantly insulted...oh, I could go on, but you already know what I'm going to say." John sighed, and sat down next to the grave.

"The funny truth was, and still is I can say, is that as much as a nuisance you were to me...you really saved me. You showed me that there...that there was more to life than nightmares, than hatred and anger. In your own dull way, you truly opened my eyes to the impossible, Sherlock Holmes." He closed his eyes and smiled. "And you taught me how to love again. Or better yet, you let me experience a love I had never known. I actually fell in love with you, Sherlock. I fell in love with that personality of yours. You were a prick no doubt, but at the same time you tended to be quite charming and in your own way, caring. And I'm not sure if anyone has ever told you, but you don't look too bad, in fact, from my standing and that of many others, you were actually quite attractive." John smiled as a wind breeze flew by. "I know you never felt the same way for me, and I know you never will. I guess that's why I am here...to put those thoughts to rest, those hopes and dreams. I'm leaving you for good. You still have all of me, and I can't bare it any longer. We had some good times together, but now...I suppose it's time for me to move on, and have some times_"

"You're really that eager to rid of me?" A very familiar and deep voice echoed behind the tombstone, causing John to turn around. "It is understandable of course, but do continue with the flattery, I very much enjoyed what you had to say about me."

John stared wide eyed and confused. Sherlock only continued. "Thank you John, for leaving weeds by my grave, it was a chore to have to clean them up, but it kept me occupied. And I suppose I should ask for my overcoat back...it has been a year, has it not?"

"Sherlock_"

"It's rare for you to get emotional, perhaps I can black mail you with what you've said, but that would be cruel wouldn't it?" John stood quickly and approached what he assumed to be an apparition of his late friend. He still had the same wild and curly hair as always, and his icy blue eyes were more transparent than before. He wore a blouse, some slacks and some shoes. He looked the same.

"You look like you've seen a ghost, are you alright?" John threw a punch in reply, and aimed his fist right at Sherlock's head. Luckily, the detective caught his hand, and pulled him into a very awkward yet tight embrace.

"Let me go! You damn bastard!" John managed, trying not to completely lose himself.

"You're angry. I don't understand." Sherlock breathed. John could feel his deep voice rattle against his chest.

"You bloody idiot! Do you have any idea what you have put me through? The pain I've gone through all because you were hiding! Did you even care to tell me_"

Quick movements, a few shuffles and Sherlock had inclined just a bit to place a very soft, passionate kiss on John's lips. He stopped the doctor in his place for just mere seconds before finally breaking their longing caress.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock breathed. "Truly I am." John just swayed there in a daze. His eyes were still hazy as he stared at Sherlock.

"Is this a dream?" John whispered, surprising Sherlock. "Am I dreaming?" The detective shook his head. "Why did you...why did you kiss me?"

"I've missed you John, perhaps more than you have missed me." Sherlock sighed. "Yes, those things you say about me are true, I won't doubt them for a second, but you John...you have saved me. You have given me a reason not to die, a reason to come back." He leaned forward once again and placed his lips on John's forehead. "I wish I could tell you everything."

"What does that mean?" John closed his eyes.

"It means that I am doing everything in my power to keep you safe."Sherlock managed a genuine smile. "After all, I don't know what I would do if my blogger got hurt on my behalf." For the first time in a year, John found himself laughing. A genuine laugh and for some reason it hurt, he hurt. His chest rattled, and his heart ached with every snicker that escaped his lips. Eventually, his heartfelt full chuckles became heavy, dragging sobs.

He didn't have to say anything for Sherlock to know how he felt. The detective only approached him and placed an arm around his waist. "We have some catching up to do I suppose, though I know quite a bit about you. I'm curious though, who is this Mary woman? I can tell she quite fancies you, and she has a right to do so." He chuckled. "But you, John Watson are only meant for me. Once my blogger, always my blogger." The two walked. "Once my savior, always my savior." Sherlock smiled as the two approached the exit of the graveyard.

"Thank...thank you." John managed. "For coming back."

"John, you are the only person in this world I care about. I wouldn't abandon you for anything. It's just a matter of waiting patiently." He smiled. "Though I have to say, I did quite enjoy the flattery."

"Don't push it." John wiped his tears away. "You still have more than enough explaining to do."

"As do you. Perhaps you should've been up front with your emotions before I met my counterfeit demise."

John actually blushed. "Are you about to mock me?"

"I'm about to tell you that I feel the exact same way."

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**The end! Hope you like it! Please tell me what you think. I do not own BBC Sherlock.**


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